Duty, Driving, and the Dakotas

This is John with another update. Last week was my first time being duty officer. I was on duty for a week, and I will have to do it again every 6 months. One of my responsibilities was to check every part of the consulate and lock up at the end of the work day. Embassies never close and have Marines that guard the facilities 24/7. Since Chennai is only a consulate, we don't have a Marine Guard Force. We have locally contracted guards who guard the outside of the building but don't have clearance to enter the secure areas of the consulate. So, in Chennai, an officer with a security clearance has to open and lock up the consulate each day.

More importantly, the duty officer is on call 24/7 in case an American citizen needs assistance. Every U.S. embassy and consulate has a phone number that can be called anytime in case of emergency (by the way, if you are going to travel overseas, it would be a good idea to get the phone number from the website of the U.S. embassy/consulate in the area you will be visiting and have it with you in case you need it).

So what kind of calls do we get? Last Sunday evening, I got a call from a distraught daughter in the U.S. who thought her father was lying dead in a street somewhere. Her father, a 61-year-old Indian American who has lots of family and friends in Chennai and travels back and forth often, arrived in Chennai the previous Saturday morning and promptly disappeared. He didn't go to the family-owned apartment he always stays at. He didn't go to any of his usual places. He didn't call any of his family or friends. And, he didn't carry a cell phone, so his family had no way to call him. There wasn't much I could do that night, so I told the distraught daughter what we could do for her and that it would have to wait until the morning. That didn't stop her from calling several times throughout the night for "updates." I understand she was worried and was always polite, but it would have been nice to get some sleep. I went into the consulate the next morning, a holiday, by the way, looked up the missing father's information in our database to verify his information, and started the search. We called friends, family, police, and hospitals. Nothing. Then, we got a break. One of our local Indian employees in the consular section has a contact in Indian Immigration that called her back. The missing father left a phone number with the Indian officials when he went through customs. We called that number, and the father answered. Turns out he was fine. He said he had changed his plans, and it hadn't occurred to him to tell anyone. We suspect there was something else going on that he didn't want to tell his family about, but we don't need to go there. We asked him to please call his family, which he did, and it was a happy ending for all (at least as long as the family never finds out about, well, never mind).

Among my other interesting calls was a guy who called frantically just as his daughter-in-law's parents were leaving his house. He and his son are American citizens. His son married an Indian, and the Indian wife's family showed up at the father's house saying his son had destroyed their daughter's life and demanded money for compensation. They threatened to sue and turn him over to the police on trumped up charges if he doesn't comply. Yikes. We recommended lawyers for him and told him we'd watch his case if it comes to that. Memo to self: don't let the kids marry someone with crazy parents.

On to the driving report. I finally got my Indian drivers license and started driving. Our driver is off on Sundays, so I started driving to church and back. My first time out, here's what went well. Driving on the wrong side of the road was easier than I thought it would be. Our car is a stick shift, and it took a few shifts to get used to the transmission, but not too bad. Here's what did not go so well: everything else. There are just so many people and vehicles everywhere. Pedestrians, bicycles, motorcycles, auto rickshaws, cars, trucks, weaving in and out all over the place. Maybe that's why getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road was so easy. The side is optional anyway. There is no "if I just stay in my lane on the correct side of the road I'll be fine." It's more like a video game of dodge the obstacles as they come flying at you. We only almost ran over two pedestrians and only almost crashed into one car. I would say that is quite a non-smashing success. Amy, who was screaming and grabbing the ceiling of the car the whole time, might disagree, but I am happy to say that it gets better each time we go out. Here is to hoping for an accident-free 2 years in Chennai.

Finally, to the Dakotas. Last Friday night, Amy and I attended a networking dinner sponsored by the Indo-American Chamber of Commerce. To our great surprise, we met an Indian American now living in Chennai who used to live in North Dakota. He started businesses in Valley City and Fargo (North Dakota) and in Pierre (South Dakota). How's that for proof that the world is getting smaller every day? Pictured below are me, the fellow North Dakotan Dr. J.M Franklin, and his friend, K. Anantharaman.

Valluvar Kottam

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Erin and I went to Valluvar Kottam to see an exhibition of crafts and textiles from around India. I didn't have an address for the place, but I was told it was pretty well known, so Erin and I hopped in the car and told Ashok, "To Valluvar Kottam!" He took us straight there. This is one reason (among many) that I love having a driver. I expected to be taken to some kind of exhibition hall, which I was, but before entering the hall Erin and I stood with jaws agape looking at this enormous monument.

It's hard to give you an idea of the scale, but this thing is enormous. So naturally we asked Ashok (who seems to know everyone and everywhere in Chennai) to explain. His explanation: "It's a big thing because of a big man. Looking. Looking. His name is there."

So Ashok is wonderful, but not perfect. After looking, looking we saw that it's a monument to a famous Tamil poet named Thiruvalluvar, who wrote epic poems 2,000 years ago. The monument is meant to be a temple chariot, and there's a life-size statue of the poet inside. The history to this place constantly amazes me. Tamil culture has been around for thousands of years, and in many ways it hasn't changed much.

After standing in awe of Thiruvalluvar and his monument, we went inside the exhibition hall and saw traditional crafts and textiles from around the country. I was too busy deciding what to buy to take any photos ... sorry. There were a lot of jewelry, fabrics, and paintings. I came away with an amazing set of hammered brass bells from Gujarat. I'll post a photo of them once we get a stand.

Being married to a musician makes this kind of purchase an ordeal. I can never walk up and just buy a bell or a windchime or a drum. We've got to listen to every one of them and decide which has the best tone or whatever. So when I found these bells (I heard them from across the room, actually), I called John and the artist and I played too many bells to count for him over the cell phone. John picked out four. Then we had a three-way negotiation for the price, with John on the phone, me at the stall, and the artist pleading his case. This attracted a large and highly amused crowd. In the end, I walked out with the four bells carefully wrapped and my wallet considerably lighter. John assures me that it was a great deal, though.

So Valluvar Kottam gets two thumbs up from me.

Happy Monday

Evie's a funny girl. She came home from her first day of preschool, and I asked her how it went. She heaved a dramatic sigh and said, "Well ... I STILL don't know how to read!" Apparently, she thought all she had to do was show up at school and she'd magically know how to read. So disappointing. Here she is showing off her latest (pretend) culinary creation, served up in a coconut shell she found in the yard.

Here's a better shot of the peace flags made by kids at the international school. We're really happy with the school here, despite some struggles with Johnny's behavior. They've got a good counselor and an excellent school psychologist who's been meeting with me fairly regularly. We've put Johnny through unbelievable stress over the last few years. Now we're working on healing. We'll get there soon.

Samuel is about as happy as an almost 2-year-old can be. He's very affectionate, too, which is wonderful for me. I get all kinds of hugging, kissing and snuggling throughout the day. Here he is in the splash pool at Mommy and Me, acting like the master of the universe we all know he is.

Here's another of Super Samuel in all his imaginative glory.

And here's one more just to remind you of where we live. This shrine to Ganesha sits right outside the door to one of the grocery stores we frequent. I've been meaning to take a photo of it since we got here, and I finally snapped a quick one with my cell phone the other day.

Lest you think my life is stress-free ...

Work orders submitted to the Consulate today:

1. We're nearly out of cooking gas.
2. There is some kind of animal living in our kitchen ceiling.
3. There is a low-hanging electrical wire running across our back yard, and it's getting within children's reach.
4. There is an open hole in the back yard that is likely harboring snakes.

Ayudha Puja

Here in South India we're in the middle of the 10-day Navratri festival, which marks the transition from summer to autumn. I don't pretend to understand much of Hinduism, as it's far too ancient and complex for an outsider to grasp in the short time we've been here, but I did learn that Navratri is a time when people worship the various forms of Goddess Durga, or the Mother Divine.

As part of the festival, families set up a golu, which is a tiered display of dolls and figurines. Many families have dolls that have been passed from mother to daughter for generations. Here's a picture of the golu that was set up at the consulate. I took the photo with my cell phone, so it's not great. Yes. That is a purple unicorn on the bottom tier.

Here in Tamil Nadu, the big event is Ayudha Puja, on the ninth day of the festival. This is when workers perform a puja, like a blessing, on their tools. As I understand it, the idea is to awaken the divine force within the tools and ask it to perform well through the coming year. Anciently, the puja was done on weapons, but today people perform it on any kind of tool that relates to their work. Office workers might do it for a computer or artists for their paintbrushes. The drivers at the consulate performed the puja on all of the consulate vehicles ... and we even had a puja in our driveway!

Quick tangent: All this time I've been under the impression that our driver, Ashok, was Christian. Not so! Here's my excuse. Ashok cannot stop talking about his daughter's coming wedding, The Event of the Century, and I know she's getting married in a Catholic church. I just assumed that the whole family was Catholic. Silly me. So Ashok, our gardener (Melan), and our neighbor's driver (Ramesh) have been anxiously preparing for the Ayudha Puja for days now, and I could not figure out why Ashok was so into this. I finally asked him, "Aren't you Catholic?" Then the whole story came out. His daughter is a recent convert to Christianity ... because of "the boyfriend," as Ashok always calls him. This is a HUGE deal. Apparently it's a love marriage, which is still extremely uncommon here. The fathers generally arrange a match, and this is true for Hindus, Christians and Muslims. I asked Ashok how he feels about it, and he said he was glad to see his daughter so happy. There is a lot of tension in the extended family, though, and Ashok has had to not-so-politely ask relatives to butt out of the situation. After I had this conversation with Ashok, one of my friends told me that Ashok's daughter's engagement was juicy gossip among the local household staff. It's all so romantic and scandalous! Who knew? That's what I get for assuming.

Back to the puja at hand. First, Ashok and friends hung garlands in the driveway and lined up the cars, their motorbikes, and even the kids' bikes to be cleaned and decorated.

Next, everything was smeared with tamarind paste, sandalwood paste, and kumkum (some people call it vermillion). Those are the same things people have painted on their foreheads after doing a puja at a temple, a practice that led to women wearing the bindi (that's the dot in the middle of the forehead) as part of their daily fashion. Many men also walk around with marks on their foreheads (usually vertical or horizontal lines rather than a dot). Different designs mean loyalty to different deities, but we're getting too detailed for this post.

The paste was added to all "important" parts of the car: windshield, mirrors, lights, tires, etc.

Here Ashok is adding the kumkum as a dot in the center of each large smear of paste.

Melan and Ramesh dabbing kumkum onto Samuel's trike

Samuel's trike and Evie's bike didn't make it through the whole ceremony, because the kids wanted to ride. Oh, well.

After everything was properly cleaned, decorated and smeared, the drivers prepared an offering. I think it was to the divine force within the vehicles, but I'm not positive on that.

The offering was placed on banana leaves and included puffed rice and various fruits. They also placed small lamps around the outside.

Here's a photo of the completed offering. Once it was complete, no one was allowed to approach it unless they removed their shoes. The box between the two cars is full of Melan's gardening tools.

Once everything was prepared, Ashok rang the puja bell while Ramesh performed the ceremony. First he circled the offering and each vehicle with a cup of flames. As owner of the car, I had to stick my hand over the same flame. (John's duty officer this week, so he missed it.)

Then he did the same thing with various fruits that had been hollowed, filled with dye, and lit on fire. When he was done with the fruit, he smashed it on the driveway.

Here he is with a flaming coconut.

Ramesh told me the last item was a white pumpkin. I'd never seen one before.

Ashok was ringing a puja bell during the entire ceremony. I couldn't get a good photo, so you'll have to use your imagination. Notice the lemons under the tires. As owner of the car, I was supposed to smash the lemons as the first to drive the car after the puja.

The smashed gourd. It had been filled with coins and dye.

After the ceremony, Ramesh and Ashok presented the owners with bowls of fruit and sweets.

It was a fascinating evening, and I'm really glad I saw the puja done. I admit to feeling a little on the fence about it, being a Christian and so opposed to idolatry. Ashok is the principal driver of our car, though, so it was important to him. In any case, it was certainly a unique cultural experience. Happy puja!

One should not forget how to sit on the floor

I’ve been thinking a lot about this quote from the latest book in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, “The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party.”

“Pelenomi now invited Mma Ramotswe inside and sat down – with the natural grace of one accustomed to sitting on the floor. Mma Ramotswe lowered herself to the ground. One should not forget how to sit on the floor, she thought – never, no matter what happened in one’s life, no matter where one’s life journey took one. A president, she believed, should be able to sit on the floor with as much ease as the humblest herdsman.”

A chair seems like such a basic possession – even a necessity. Funny that I think of things as necessities simply because I’ve never been without them.

We have a grandfather/grandson team that works in our home, helping with cleaning, cooking and caring for the kids. Whenever they take a tea or lunch break, they sit cross-legged , facing each other, in the middle of the kitchen floor. When I offered chairs, Gopal, the grandfather, said, “No, thank you, ma’am. We are more comfortable this way.” And they do certainly look at home and comfortable, sitting together on the floor, eating their rice with the fingers of the right hand, as is proper, and conversing quietly in Tamil. Occasionally they’re joined by a relative, a woman who works in a nearby home. When she comes she walks into the kitchen and seats herself in one graceful, fluid motion.

I don’t sit on the floor much, and while it could be chalked up to a simple cultural difference, I wonder if there isn’t more to it than that. If I do get down on the floor, it’s usually to play with my kids, so there is something of humility in it, I guess.

The quote has also made me think about what’s really needed around here … I’m not planning to throw out my chairs, but there are plenty of other things that could probably go.

Cricket Match

Johnny and I got to go to our first cricket match last week, and we got to go in style! The Australian Consulate was kind enough to donate some box seat tickets for a match between the Chennai Super Kings and the Cape (South Africa) Cobras. Three of my co-workers, Johnny, and I were lucky enough to get the tickets. The box had plush leather seats, a great view of the field, and all-you-can-eat drinks, snacks, hors d'oeuvres, and a 5-star quality dinner. We shared the box with an Indian family who found our new interest in cricket to be highly amusing, and they were more than happy to explain all of the rules to us.

Now, those of you that know me well know that I enjoy good food, and you won't be surprised to learn that both Johnny and I had no problem helping ourselves to immense portions of the delicious food (again, to the amusement of our wealthy Indian box mates who were probably wondering why we were acting like we had never seen food before; clearly they do not have the formerly-starving-musician mentality). Those of you that know me well also know that I'm not one for watching sports and might be wondering what I thought of the game. Well, the verdict is.....super fun! The crowd was suitably bonkers for our home team. There was fun music booming so loudly that the stadium was shaking. The best player for the home team is named Dwayne Bravo. And there was a scantily clad (but not too scantily clad) squad of cheerleaders called "White Mischief." And it's not tongue-in-cheek. It's for real. India is so cool!

Proud father and son, just before the match started and the waiters started bringing out the food.

Cricket is similar to baseball, only more fast paced and without all of the boring dead time in which nothing happens (I guess I just gave away how I feel about baseball). Here you can see the Super Kings' bowler (in yellow, right in front of the referee,who is dressed in black) throwing the ball at one of the Cobras' batters. The team in the field gets a point if the bowler knocks over one of the 3 wickets behind the batter or if a fielder catches a fly ball. The batting team gets points if the ball is hit into the field and touches a wall (4 points), goes over the wall (6 points), or gives the 2 batters enough time to switch spots (1 point for each swap in position). It was a close game. Chennai won by 4 points.



Several members of the crowd were waving yellow flags, the color of the home team. I found it interesting that the crowd was happy to cheer and wave their flags for a good play by the opposing team as well. Everyone seemed to love the game and was just happy to be there having a good time. I never heard a single boo. Chennai really is a strange and marvelous place.